


Here There Be Dragons

by Stormsong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Sam, Dragons, Gabriel Lives, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 06, i'm in denial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-24 16:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10745646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormsong/pseuds/Stormsong
Summary: It wasn't just gold and a manuscript made with human skin that the Winchester brothers took from the Dragons' Lair. By the time they realize that though it's much too late. The damage has been done and one of the brothers will be forever changed.





	1. Like A Virgin

**Author's Note:**

> I truly couldn't help myself. This particular story began with a random "What if..." thought.

Another man, a second dragon, had come out of no where and was facing off with Dean. That left Sam to get the broken dragon blade.

He hadn't wanted to turn his back on the first dragon, but he didn't have a choice, did he? Someone had to get the broken blade. So Sam threw himself down on the grate to reach through the large opening. Right as he wrapped his hand around the hilt Sam was yanked back. Thankfully, he still had a hold of the broken sword.

That was the last of his good fortune though. The dragon that had Sam bit him! Sank his teeth deep into his neck! The pain was nearly more than he could handle. Struggling to not pass out Sam manage to bring the blade up and scratch one of the hands that held him. With a hiss the dragon let the hunter go.

Good thing, too. The other dragon was stalking towards Dean with a glowing hand reaching out. His brother was defenseless.

Two strides forward and Sam was able to sink the broken blade deep into the dragon's unprotected back. White lightning raced across the dragon's skin illuminating...was that scales? It looked like scales just below human-like skin. The dragon screamed, the glowing hand dimmed, and collapsed onto the grated walkway.

There was puff of wind, when Sam turned around the first dragon was gone.

With no sign of the beast Sam and Dean freed the girls and sent them on their way. Before they left the sewer though Dean insisted exploring the rest of the dragons' lair.

“Just in case, Sammy.”

“Sure, Dean.”

Sam knew his brother wanted the gold. Couldn't blame them. If they pawned it they could probably get a lot of money from it. They certainly wouldn't need to hustle pool for money for awhile at least.

The dim sewer passageway was getting dimmer and beginning to tilt. That couldn't be good. Sam called out, “Dean!” The figure ahead of him paused and turned.

Sam put a hand out to the wall to stop the tilting. But he missed. Sam began to fall as the edges of his vision darkened.

“Sam!” His brother's voice was distant. The darkness closed in.

…

 

Dean was worried about his brother. Then again, when did he not worry about his brother? This time though was different.

About a week and a half ago Death had put Sam's soul back in. With a wall and a warning. Just a few days ago Sam had woken up from _that_.

Now Sammy had a bite on his neck and unconscious.

So Dean had a right to worry about his little brother. It was practically a job all on its own.

They were back in the motel room. Sam laid out on his bed with a bandage on the bite. There was nothing more Dean could do to it. Clean it and bandage it. And watch and wait for Sammy to wake.

“Dammit, Sammy,” he told his unconscious brother from where he sat on his own bed. “I told you you should have stayed at Bobby's.” Dean ran a hand over his face tiredly. It seemed that was all he was anymore. Tired. Was there such a thing as a well rested hunter? Or was that as much as not an actual thing like Big Foot?

With a grimace Dean stood and walked over to the coffee pot. This was going to be a long night.

…

 

Sam came to with a groan. He had the mother of all headaches, in fact, his whole body ached. And his skin felt weird. Why that would stand out Sam couldn't fathom. He felt itchy all over. Like he needed to rub himself on something coarse to make it stop.

“Sam? C'mon, Sammy, wake up. Open them peepers. I heard you groaning.” Dean's voice was full of concern. As it had been ever since he woke up at Bobby's days ago. At least this time Sam knew why his brother was so concerned. He would be too if the dragon had taken a bite out of Dean and Dean had been the one passing out in the lair.

That's right. The freaking dragon had bit him!

“Whoa there, dude! Don't go poking at that.” Sam's hand was pulled away from the bandage.

Sam opened his eyes to see Dean's worried one's staring down at him.

“Why didn't you tell me about the bite?”

“Kind of forgot about it while I was saving _your_ hide, Dean.” Sam tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace as Dean moved away and the lights of the room hit him full on. _Why was it so bright in the room?_

“Here, take these. They should help with the pain and the killer headache you appear to have.”

Sam pulled himself into a sitting position before cracking his eyelids. Even that was almost too much. Dean was holding out a couple of their strongest painkillers and a glass of water. Sam took the pills and water and downed both in quick succession. Once he set the glass aside he closed his eyes and rested his head against the headboard.

A thought occurred to him. Without opening his eyes he asked his brother, “Did you take the manuscript?”

“Yeah. I figured you'd want that.”

Sam nodded, unsure and uncaring if his brother could see it or not. “We should take it to Bobby. See what he can make of it.”

“That's the plan. I want to head back to Bobby's anyways. Make sure you get a bit more rest.”

“Dean-”

“No. An actual dragon took a bite form you. We're heading to Bobby's and you _will_ rest.” That was Dean's Big Brother voice. The one that Sam learned to obey very early on as a child. He was sure that if he cracked his eyes open he would be making the face that went with it. Sam managed to crack one eye. Sure enough. Dean had that stern 'do as I say 'cause I know what's best for you' look.

“Alright.” It was easy enough to give in when his brother was like that.

…

 

After Sam agreed with Dean's plan, as if his little brother had a choice, the younger man promptly fell asleep. Propped up against the headboard. Dean tsk'd before getting Sam back on his back properly. If he didn't know better Dean would have thought that there was something truly wrong with the giant kid. But Sam simply needed rest. Lots of it. For crying out loud! Sammy _just_ got his soul back. That had to take some readjusting to. Didn't it? Why couldn't his little brother see that?

With some effort Dean managed to get the covers from underneath Sam to cover him up. Then he was finally able to stumble to his own bed to fall unconscious. In the morning they'd check-out and head to Bobby's house.

In the morning Dean checked out. Got both himself and Sam packed up and their things loaded into the car. All while Sam slept.

When he did get Sammy up his little brother wasn't much more than a sleepwalker. Just barely conscious enough to let Dean guide his brother out of the motel room and into the passenger's seat. It reminded Dean when Sammy was a kid. When they had to leave before the crack of dawn and it was Dean's responsibility to get his baby brother dressed and into the car. Dean had done that from the time Sam became too big to carry to about middle school he thought.

“In ya go, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean told his brother softly as he tried not to knock the kid's head on the car frame.

Sam slept all the way to Bobby's. There Dean repeated the process of getting his brother out of the car and to the couch. Sam just barely conscious enough that Dean didn't have to carry his taller brother.

Bobby remarked, “I don't remember the last time I saw your brother so wiped out.”

Dean had to agree. “I told him that he should have stayed here.”

Bobby snorted. “Like that'd ever work.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

…

 

When Sam woke up it was full on afternoon. He couldn't believe he slept that long! Or that Dean let him sleep for that long!

After a shower and a change of clean clothes Sam headed to the kitchen. Where Bobby greeted him stiffly before stalking off to his desk in the study. The way Bobby acted towards Sam made more sense since he'd tricked Cas into spilling the beans. It kinda hurt though, even if Sam didn't blame Bobby at all. It was worse that he didn't know or couldn't remember what he could have possibly have done to make his surrogate father act so coldly towards him.

A quick search of the kitchen and fridge found Sam with leftovers and coffee for breakfast, or rather, lunch. Then after brushing his teeth he went in search of his brother.

Who he found sitting at the picnic table at the entrance to the garage. Behind Dean a car was high up waiting on the car lift. In front of Dean a pile of gold was spilling out of a duffel bag onto the table.

His brother looked up with a smirk. “Hey, Sam. Ask me what time it is.”

The sight of all that gold made Sam's skin itch in a way that was almost a craving.

“Why don't you cut to the chase and just roll in it?” Sam's joking words felt too close to sounding like he was talking to some part of himself. Thankfully, Sam was able to shove the thoughts aside before he could actually think about them. Of course, that brought other thoughts to the surface. Ones that had been on his mind since talking to Cas.

“I rarely have wealth,” Dean chuckled pleased with himself. Seeing his brother smile like that Sam really didn't want to make it go away. But he needed to have this talk with his brother.

With a resigned feeling Sam sat across from his brother. “Dean....”

 


	2. The French Mistake (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything from Balthazar's entrance to Sam and Dean going through the window is canon and the dialogue is lifted straight from the episode. After that canon will diverge...by quite a bit.

Sam's skin was irritated. By what he couldn't figure out. All he knew was that his skin had been itching for days. Ever since the case in Portland, Oregon.

At first he thought Dean had put itching powder in his clothes again. When he asked his brother about it Dean replied, “Nah, dude. But I can if it makes you feel better.” Sam had glared at him for the comment, or what Dean liked to call his 'bitchface'. It just made Dean laugh instead.

Now he was trying lotion. Even at the expense of being called 'Samantha' all the time. The lotions would hep at first. Within days though, and then even quicker, the lotion would stop working. Then finally Sam had bought the stuff for eczema. That had worked for full week before failing.

It was all Sam could do to not dig his nails into his skin to try ripping it off. Maybe if he did it might actually solve the problem, he thought as he turned a page in the old book he was going through.

Which didn't have a single bit of information in it that they could use. Sam stood, tried to reach an itchy spot on his back, gave it up as a lost cause, and broke the silence with, “I'm gonna go see if there's anything in the basement that might be useful.”

Bobby grunted and Dean made an affirmative sound as he downed the contents of his glass.

When Sam came back up thunder cracked and lightning flashed. The rain was coming down so heavily it was pouring down in sheets against the glass. A glance around the room only showed his brother.

“Where's Bobby?” He asked as he set the stack of books down on the desk.

Dean eyed the empty liquor bottle in his hand. “In town. Supply run.”

Sam glance at rain beating against the window, “In this?”

“Yeah, man's a hero.” Dean gestured with the bottle, “We were officially out of hunter's helper.”

At the same time that Dean set the bottle down the lights flickered, thunder rolled, then lightning flashed right before the sound of wings could be heard.

Sam and Dean didn't have so much as a chance to share a look before Balthazar materialized in the kitchen with a, “Hello, boys.” As if he belonged there.

Sam turned and Dean stood. It was never good when angels randomly showed up. Even maybe friendly ones. Not that Balthazar was on their friends-list, but he wasn't an enemy either.

The angel in the British meatsuit strolled into the study with long steps, heels of his fancy shoes clicking against the hardwood, like he was in an actual hurry. His next words gave credence to that.

“You've seen _The Godfather_ , right?” At least his tone was hurried, if the words were almost casual. The angel got as far as the desk before turning to face Sam.

Dean had an expression like he can't believe that he just saw and is seeing the angel in Bobby's study. If it had been Castiel he might have had a different expression. But Dean's eyes are wide and disbelieving.

Sam could't blame his brother. He felt the same. _What is Balthazar doing here? Of all places?_

The brothers didn't have to wait long. Balthazar hadn't stopped talking, still to Sam. Even gesturing with his hands, or rather hand. In the other was a stone bowl. “You know, the end, where Michael Corleone sends his men to kill his enemies in one big, bloody swoop?” The angel set the bowl down on the desk then turned away.

“Hey!” Dean exclaimed to get Balthazar's attention. It didn't work.

Though the angel did turn back around with a box of salt. “'Dead Sea brine,'” he read aloud. “Good, good, good.” Balthazar poured an seeming unmeasured amount into the bowl. As he poured he continued to describe the scenes from _The Godfather_. “You know, Moe Greene gets in the eye, and Don Cuneo gets it in the revolving door?”

Dean said, “I said, 'hey'.” This time Balthazar looked up at the man.

“You did. Twice.” The angel replied in his smarmy way, patting Dean on the shoulder condescendingly. He looked about, almost muttering to himself, “Blood of lamb. Blood of lamb.” Wings flapped and lightning flashed. Balthazar had teleported again. This time to the fridge. “Beer, cold pizza. Blood of lamb.” The angel pulled out a glass jar of blood with a triumphant, “Yes! Blood of lamb!”

Sam couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer. “Why are you talking about _The Godfather_?”

Another flap of wings and suddenly Balthazar was standing beside the desk again. He turned to the brothers with an almost scary serious face. Scary coming from a laid back angel (probably one of the most laid back angel apart from Gabriel, who was dead). “Because we're in it – right now, tonight. And in the role of Michael Corleone – The Archangel Raphael.” Having explained the situation, in his mind, the angel poured the entire contents of the jar into the bowl.

Dean asked for clarification. “You mind telling us what you mean?”

But Balthazar wasn't paying attention to the Winchesters anymore.

He began to look around frantically, muttering. “No, no, no.” The angel pulled out the desk drawer. His muttering grew louder. “No, no, no.” Then he ripped of the bottom of the draw. “Yes,” with some relief in his voice as he turned his attention back to the brothers. “Bone of a lesser saint.” Balthazar jiggled a little bag with a vertebra in it. “This vertebra will do very nicely. Your Mr. Singer does keep a beautiful pantry.”

“Wait, Raphael is after you?” Dean asked trying to get the facts straight.

“Raphael is after us all.” The angel crushed the bone, now in his hand, into the bowl with the other ingredients. “You see, he's consolidated his strength. And now he's on the move.”

“And where's Cas?” Sam wanted to know.

Balthazar moved to the window string the mixture with a pestle he found from somewhere. “Oh, Cassie? He is deep, deep underground.” The angel set the bowl on the sill and turned towards the brothers. “So, good old Ralphie put out a hit list on every last Samaritan who helped our dear Cas – Including both of you. And so much more importantly, me.” Balthazar coughed. Something neither brother expected any angel do such a human thing. Sam wasn't sure if he should be concerned or not. The angel was still explaining, “See, he wants to draw Cas out into the open.” Now he began finger-painting the window with an unknown sigil.

Sam spoke up with, “And you expect us to believe you?”

“Oh, don't. You'll go where I throw you either way.”

The angel was back to confusing the brothers again.

Dean asked, “What's that supposed to mean?”

The lights flickered again. It seemed significant to Sam. The lights had flashed exactly like that when the angel before them had arrived.

Balthazar thought it was significant as well. “That's all the time we have, gentlemen.” He unbutton his coat giving the brothers an unintentional flash of blood on his light gray shirt. “Where is it?” the angel reached into an inner coat pocket.

“Oh,” Dean made a face, “What happened there?”

Balthazar looked down at himself then at Dean. “Oh, garish, I know. You see, Uncle Raphie sent one of his nastiest to handle me. I'm flattered, actually.” He genuinely sounded it. “And down a lung, at the moment, but that's all right.” To Sam he held out a locker key. “Here's for you.”

That thoroughly confused Sam. “What am I supposed to do with this?” the hunter jingled the key.

“Run with it,” was the short reply. Then the angel was thrown with an unseen force landing with a crash at the other end of the room.

With a flap of wings another, unrecognized angel came stalking from the kitchen.

Who was identified by Balthazar as, “Virgil.” When he got to his feet he yelled, “I said run!”

A blast of power sent the brothers directly into the sigiled window and through it. To land onto large cushions. On a set. Neither brother had ever been so confused.

When they scrambled to their feet someone yelled, “Cut!”

…

 

The man that went by Richard Speight Jr. in this reality smothered a groan. He was probably the only one that truly knew what had just taken place.

Not he crew members that were applauding certainly thought they were supporting the actors. Not the two men that just stood up on the landing cushions with confusion written all over their faces for anyone to read. If they bothered.

Except those two muttonheads weren't actors. Certainly not actors portraying hunters in a television series. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one saw things, the two men were the real McCoy.

Even from where Richard was sitting he could tell that the Jensen and Jared look-a-likes didn't fully understand what had happened. And they were ones to experience it.

No. Someone in their reality had literally thrown them through a window and into this reality.

_Just great. When I thought I was getting some well deserved peace and quiet. No. The very mooks that I saved by practically dying had to come crashing back into my life._

…

 

“No angels,” Dean said in awed confusion.

Sam agreed in the same tone. “Doesn't look like it. No magic either.” It wasn't until that moment that Sam even realized he could feel the magic against his skin. Or he had been able to. As Balthazar had begun to mix the ingredients the hunter had been able to feel the magic building. It had built as the sigil had been drawn. The magic had _exploded_ as the brothers had crashed through the window.

As soon as they were on the other side, landing on the large cushions, and someone calling 'cut'...that was when the magic had disappeared off of his skin. Completely. As if it didn't exist wherever they were now.

Some part, some new part, of Sam didn't like the idea of magic not existing. Another part, the old or original part, of Sam didn't like the idea either. But for different reasons. Magic meant they could go home from wherever here was. No magic meant they were stuck here.

The clapping broke into Sam's thoughts. Then someone was calling them Jared and Jensen, saying that something was great. _What?_

A film crew-member came out of nowhere and started saying some nonsense about _Supernatural_ , (which sounded too much like Chucks books) and scenes and takes and _huh???_

There were cameras and film crew everywhere. Just like that time they'd been backstage for the filming of _Hell Hazers II: The Reckoning_. Sam hadn't like that then and he had a feeling he wasn't going to like whatever was going on now. Especially if it was what he thought it might be.

The more Sam looked around the more he didn't like what he saw. Beside them were trees in pots, that might or might not be real. Behind them was a set. Of Bobby's study. The glass, when he picked it up, wobbled in his hand. All around the brothers were film crew-members. They were in a television studio.

With each discovery and realization the new part of him Sam didn't want to acknowledge was screaming: _No magic!_

Then, a man they did recognize, one they knew, or thought, to be dead, walked towards the brothers.

“Hello, boys! Didn't fancy seeing you here.” The words sounded cheerful, but there was an edge to them.

_Gabriel?_

“Gabriel?” Dean echoed Sam's thought.

“Eh! Here I go by Richard Speight Jr.”

“'Junior'?” Dean asked in disbelief.

Sam opened his mouth to say...something...what came out was a moaned, “No magic.”

Dean and Gabriel frowned at the tall hunter.

“He keeps saying that. Ever since we came through the window,” Dean said with concern.

“Well, he's not wrong. There isn't any magic in this reality. No magic or supernatural. No supernatural beings, that is. There _is_ _Supernatural_ : the T.V. Show.”

“You mean...?”

“Yup!” Gabriel/Richard popped the 'p'. “In this reality your lives' is a fictional show portrayed by actors.” He pointed to Dean, “In this reality you are Jensen Ackles,” then he pointed at Sam, “and Jared Padalecki.”

“No magic,” Sam groaned.

 


	3. The French Mistake (Part 2)

Gabriel grabbed the giant man's face between his hands.

“Hey!” The brother protested, and was ignored.

The archangel stared into gun metal eyes. Humans had a saying that eyes were the windows into the soul. They were wrong and right. Eyes could give away a lot about what's going on behind them. To the archangel it was easier to peer into the eyes than stick his hand into the soul like a common angel would have to. Not that he needed to look into the eyes, either. It was the option he had while they were still in this reality.

And Sam's didn't look none too good. His soul had been shredded like it was a cheese block that someone thought they needed to take a grater to.

That wasn't all Gabriel saw. Nor was it all that worried him in the quick glimpse.

“Fuck,” he swore as he let the hunter go.

“What?” Dean demanded.

Instead of answering Gabriel turned and began walking towards the exit. “This way.”

“Why should we follow you?” Dean was demanded. _Did that really work for the hunter when he faced powerful beings?_ He certainly seemed to think so. As it was Gabriel did turn around.

“You find yourself in an alternate reality and your actually going to question your only ally? Yeah, cause that's smart. We need to have a conversation that we can't have here.” Gabriel waved a hand to indicate their current surroundings.

Dean flinched as if he only just remembered that they were in what amounted to a foreign and dangerous place for the hunters. All their hard earned skills as hunters would be (mostly) useless here. A place without their normal kind of monsters. Where everything they called normal was fiction. Where their _lives_ was a fictional story to be told. Where it was _entertainment_.

Although only a thin strand connected the archangel to Heaven while he was in this reality he could still see the thoughts running through the human's mind. He _almost_ felt sympathetic towards Dean. If Gabriel had to pick one of the two, though, he'd pick the Sasquatch. Sam had more issues to cause him worry than the Third Worlds of this reality had problems.

On the way off the lot the small group ran into Misha Collins and Gabriel could have groaned aloud. He'd forgotten the Castiel look-a-like was around today.

“Cas! Man, it's good to see you!” Dean looked like he might have actually wanted to hug the man. “Balthazar popped into Bobby's house, handed Sam a key, told us to run, and then threw us through a damn window when a new feathered dick showed up!”

Misha looked confused. Rightly so. Because as he put it, “Jensen, that's not how the line goes.” The Cas look-a-like pulled his script out of the trench coat. “Or did they change it up without telling me again?”

If nothing else confirmed things for Dean, Gabriel was sure _that_ did. _Poor Guy looks kinda hurt that he's not the real Cas. Dude's got it worse than I thought._ The hunter looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. _Or he's constipated_ , Gabriel thought. So he stepped in.

The archangel put a hand on Misha's shoulder. “Nah, man, he thought he'd try some ab lib.” Then, turning to face Dean and giving him some meaningful eye contact that he hoped wouldn't go over the hunter's head, “But now we gotta head to my place to work on a collab for an up coming episode.”

Poor Sam tried to put his two cents in. “No magic,” it sounded like he was trying to agree.

“The title of the episode,” Gabriel spoke quickly. Then with a pat to Misha's shoulder he said, “See ya, bro,” grabbed Sam's hand, and continued with, “Lets go, _Jensen_!” _Dear Dad, I need to get these two out of here before Dean has a freak out and Sam's anxiety grows any further!_

As the three left Gabriel could hear Misha mutter something about Tweeting.

By the time the trio did make it to Richard's rented car Dean really did look like he was going to have that aneurysm. If it wasn't strangers calling him Jensen it was certainly this reality's version of the Impala. Or rather the various states of the classic car the studio kept.

It was then that the hunter said through gritted teeth, “Gabriel, get us the fuck out of here!”

Another note of interest, to Gabriel, was that Sam hadn't pulled his hand away since the archangel had first grabbed it (not that Gabriel was complaining. No, siree!). The tall hunter only let go when it was apparent that he couldn't hold it and sit in the backseat at the same time.

Once they were on the road, headed for Richard's hotel room, Dean got another reality (heh, sorta) check. “Where the hell are we?”

“Canada. Vancouver, to be exact.”

Dean grumbled something that Gabriel ignored in favor of paying attention to traffic. If there was one thing the archangel actually missed about his own reality it was the ability to use his wings. Some days he couldn't feel them at all. Those days Gabriel didn't bother getting out of bed.

Now that the Winchester were here, where they didn't belong (truthfully not any more than the angel did), it looked like it was time to go back. And just maybe he could avoid dying for the dunderheads, this time.

Then his thoughts caught up to him. _Wait! What? Who says I'm going to help them!_ He sighed aloud. _Maybe the fact you are now, currently, helping them and are forming plans on getting all of you back?_ Damn it! He hated when his personal Jiminy Cricket spoke up. Or pointed out the obvious. Last time it had come in the form of one Dean Winchester. _That_ time it had gotten him dead! Or nearly.... Gabriel rubbed the spot where Luci had stabbed him. And damn if the memory still hurt.

Dean's voice broke into his thoughts. “So you didn't actually die?”

Gabriel snorted. “Just shy of it actually. And I rather not talk about it thank you very much.” He wasn't sure if the hunter had let it drop or had realized they had come to their destination. He was betting the later.

The group was silent as they climbed out of the car and walked from the parking garage to the hotel. The silence lasted on the elevator ride and the short walk to the room.

When Gabriel unlocked the door and let the Winchesters in Dean whistled and said, “Nice digs, man. Does being an actor pay so well?”

The archangel shrugged, but didn't answer otherwise. It was a nice suite if he had to say so himself. Now that they were all here though he wasn't sure how to bring up the topic. So he asked, “I'm gonna order some pizza. You guys want anything?”

Sam sat on the couch and shrugged with a slight nod. He looked reluctant to talk. P _robably 'cause all that's come out of his mouth for awhile was the same two words...._

Dean's reply was, “Now that you mention it I'm starving!” The hunter hadn't sat down like his brother. No, Dean was snooping about. As expected, Dean found the alcohol in under a minute. Of course, he helped himself to a generous shot. Gabriel didn't begrudge him in the slightest.

Nearly an hour later when everyone had eaten at least two slices and downed at least one beer Dean decided it was time to talk.

“About that discussion you decide we needed to come here to have...”

Gabriel sighed, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and sat forward with elbows on knees.

“It's a good thing we did come here. From the sounds of what you told Misha,” Dean grimaced at Gabriel's words, “someone will be coming after you. One of my little brothers is my guess. No one will think you've holed up with me. As far as they know I died for real last time. And I nearly did, like I said. But none of that's the point.” The archangel waved a hand like he was waving his words away.

“The point is, Dean, did you have a better place in mind to talk about the state of your giant of a baby brother's soul. Or that he's turning into a dragon and it's far too late to do anything about it?” With the metaphorical bomb dropped Gabriel sat back waiting for his words to sink in.

 


	4. Becoming A What?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't take the news well.

Sam stood up and walked over to the cabinet that Dean had discovered held hard liquor. Finding the same crystal decanter he poured himself a shot, thought about what Gabriel had said, and nearly filled the glass. He _was not_ going to be able to handle any of the thoughts that wanted to surface without a barrier. Then he remembered that Dean had said there was one, a _wall in his head put there by Death!_ And Sam was gulping the amber liquid down, ignoring the burn. 'Cause that was a 'nope' as much as turning into a freaking _dragon_ was!

After refilling the glass to a third full Sam sat back down on the couch. Unsurprisingly Dean and Gabriel were watching Sam. It wasn't _them_ that any of this was happening to. It wasn't so much the state of his soul he was worried about. Sam _had_ spent a year and a half Earth time in the Cage. That was, what? Nearly two hundred years at a quick count, if Dean's forty for four months was anything to go by. Sam surmised that he would be a mental patient without Death's wall. It would be a reasonable explanation for why no one wanted to talk about what he did when he'd been soulless. And, of fucking course, Sam had had to go and trick Cas into spilling the beans.

Sam took a sip of his drink.

But what was possibly becoming a mental wreck to becoming a monster? An actual fucking real-life fairy tale creature. Who actually horded gold and knew a virgin from a “dehymanated” woman (as Dean had put it).

Sam didn't realize his hand was shaking until someone took the glass from it and held the now empty hand to still it. The hunter, could he still call himself that? He looked to see who and found Gabriel's golden eyes. There was concern there, and more he couldn't read.

Sam's hand was squeezed gently; he returned the small gesture of comfort with a light squeeze of his own in thanks.

It was Dean that broke the silence. “Are you sure there is nothing we can do to fix him?” There was something in his tone that not even Sam could read. Then he realized, no, that wasn't quiet right. There was so much in his tone that he couldn't read it, not all of it. There was more than the usual desperation, guilt, and self-hatred. Which was in there. Of course, his brother thought it was his fault and thought he had to fix it. _But didn't Gabriel say it was too late?_

“What part of 'far too late' are you ignoring?” Gabriel's tone said that Dean was deliberately being obtuse. “This isn't like turning into a vampire where you need to drink blood to complete the transition. Or some type of werewolf or shapeshifter where he's 90% the brother that you know. No, wait, it's like that. Sam will still be Sam. He'll just want to go all _Hoarders_ on gold, have a virgin detector, and grow scales under his skin if he hasn't already, detract-able claws and wings. Oh! And his eyes will go lizard-like when he's feeling his most Godzilla.”

“Is there anything else?” Dean's voice had gone kinda weak.

“Other than super strength and higher or better senses than you?” The archangel shrugged nonchalantly. “There might be one or two other things.”

“What other things?”

“Well, there is the affinity for fire.” Sam and Dean nodded remembering their fight with the dragons. They both had a glowing hand. The first one had been able to make metal scorching hot. “Aaand he _might_ be able to lay eggs.”

Sam could do nothing but blink at the being still holding his trembling hand. He badly needed alcohol now more than ever, but he would have spilled it before the glass made it to his mouth. This was quickly becoming too much to handle.

Dean seemed to feel the same way, he laughed but it had an edge of hysteria to it.

When his brother had calmed a bit Dean asked the question that had been on Sam's mind for awhile. “So what _do_ we do about it?”

Gabriel shrugged again. “Until you two came crashing into my life again I thought dragons were instinct. That is clearly not the case. So get used to having a dragon for a brother. Maybe help him find a suitable cave. We can help him through the transition, but that's about it.”

 _We?_ Sam gave Gabriel a look. Gabriel gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. As if he were answering the unspoken question. Maybe he was.

Before Sam could figure out how he felt about the mind-reading or the sentiment in that hand squeeze Dean spoke the unspoken thought. “'We'?”

“Yup!” Gabriel popped the 'p'. “I'm going to be helping you boys out. Not just with whatever sent you traveling realities, and I'm thoroughly curious about that now, but also the dragon thing. Just because you, Dean, are taking the whole dragon-brother thing remarkably well, the way I figure it, you boys are gonna be in a world of trouble with that alone. I can't possibly imagine the Winchester name being a small one among the hunter community. Folks are gonna take notice.”

Sam shuddered. A couple of hunters had essentially already killed them once because Sam had let the Devil free. No, if hunters got wind of Sam turning into a dragon everyone would be out to gank him.

“No one is going to gank my brother!” Dean growled the words.

Gabriel squeezed Sam's hand again. Again sending reassurance and comfort. “They won't because I'll be there to help. And you _will_ need my help. Someone is going to need to teach Sam how to hide his abilities. _You_ won't be able to and I don't think you want to go find the dragon that sank their teeth into your brother.”

Dean simply growled at that last part.

“Thought so.”

 


End file.
